


Wide Awake in Washington

by hellsteeth



Series: the x-files romcom cinematic universe [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rom com vibes, Sleepless in Seattle AU, Slow Burn, Toxic Relationship, mention of spouse death, there is some diana fowley/mulder but pls bear with me ok, there's also some scully/tom colton but i think we all know what the endgame is here, you do not need to have seen the movie to read this i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26401894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellsteeth/pseuds/hellsteeth
Summary: Sleepless in Seattle AU (no, you don't need to have seen the movie first, I promise)After losing her husband, Dana Scully moves to Washington D.C. with her daughter Emily to start over. Meanwhile, Fox Mulder is engaged to Diana Fowley despite his doubts about their relationship. Mysterious forces in the universe, with help from Emily, conspire to help them meet.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Series: the x-files romcom cinematic universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071536
Comments: 106
Kudos: 288





	1. Chapter 1

**San Diego, California. 1991.**

They bury Dana’s husband on an unusually windy day. 

Emily clings to her, burying her small face in her mother’s leg. She jumps at the 21 gun salute and only looks up when Dana is presented with a flag, folded neatly into a triangle. Dana accepts the flag stoically, holding it under her arm as she runs her fingers through Emily’s hair. In a small and unspoken way, they cling to each other.

She’d wanted to know _why_ , but Dana, tired and shocked to the point of emptiness, had said not to ask why, that asking would only make them go crazy. They can’t change the fact that he’s dead, so moving forward is their only option. There were, of course, reasons for what had happened. A timeline starting with the first cancer diagnosis and ending here at the cemetery. But that hadn’t been what Emily was really asking, and Dana knew it. Her grandmother, Maggie, had supplied the answer that God has a reason for everything.

\--

Dana’s family doesn’t understand why she wants to leave San Diego, but she can’t blame them. It’s not their fault that walking around the base housing makes her feel like she is watching reruns of her old life on repeat from inside her own head, even though there is someone missing. Sometimes she feels her father’s absence, but mostly it is the ghost of her husband around the house that haunts her.

Her colleagues at the hospital are sympathetic, treating her almost too carefully. No matter what she says or does, Dana can’t escape the shadow of grief looming over her, broadcasting for all the world to see that she’s lost her husband. She hates the gentleness, the unsolicited advice, the invasive questions regarding her daughter’s wellbeing. When one of her coworkers mentions a vacancy at the Bethesda Naval Hospital in Washington, D.C., she leaps at the chance to get away. She and Emily need a change, and there’s nothing quite like uprooting their lives and moving across the country to encourage it.

\--

Maggie, Bill and Tara follow her and Emily to the airport, all the way to the gate. A last-ditch effort to talk her out of moving herself and her daughter across the country. Dana keeps her chin up, too proud to cry when it had been her decision to leave in the first place. She holds onto Emily’s hand tightly.

“Dana,” her mother says, following her down the wide terminal. “In a few months, things will start to go back to normal. You can go back to the hospital...working could do wonders for you. You might even start seeing other men-”

“I’ll have work in D.C., Mom.” Dana interrupts her coldly. “Besides, I don’t think that sort of thing happens twice.”

Dana and Emily board their flight, ready to start over.

\--

**Martha’s Vineyard. Christmas Eve, 1992.**

Mulder and Diana arrive at the Vineyard at the same time, climbing out of their separate cars and into the frigid seaside air.

“Thank goodness there aren’t too many family members coming tonight. I’m terrible at remembering names.” Diana says as she and Mulder walk up to his father’s front door. He grimaces, thinking of his sister, and Diana flinches sympathetically. “Sorry.”

He shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

Diana glances at the door apprehensively. “Am I what they had in mind, Fox?”

Mulder smiles at her reassuringly. “Diana, they’re going to love you. They might even want to trade you for me.”

“Well, they’re lucky that they’re getting the both of us then, huh?” she smiles at him as he knocks on the door.

\--

Christmas Eve with Mulder’s parents is a quiet and awkward affair. He can’t remember the last time his family had gathered like this for a holiday, but he suspects it was shortly after his parents divorced. Holidays never felt the same without Samantha at the dinner table.

However, Diana had thought that announcing their engagement over a meal was the best idea, and so Mulder had relented and gathered his parents for the occasion. It’s clear from the stifling silence during the meal that Bill and Teena aren’t entirely sure why they’d agreed to this sad excuse for a celebration, but Diana and the youngest Mulder are trying their best to keep the conversation flowing. Currently, they are dragging the conversation by its collar while his parents watch from the sidelines.

There isn’t much to talk about. His mother has already asked him about work, but he hadn’t had the energy for the argument that would ensue if he mentioned their recent work on a small project concerning unexplained phenomena. As far as his parents know, Mulder still works for the Violent Crimes Section, and Diana does not dispute this.

After the main course, Mulder rises to help his mother clear the table and bring out coffee and dessert. The company may be awkward (if not a little miserable), but the Mulders are Martha’s Vineyard people through and through and they know how to power through a social interaction when forced.

“So, Fox,” his father begins, taking a sip of his coffee. “How long have you and Diana been together now?”

Diana answers for him. “About a year and a half now, Bill.”

Mulder’s father raises his eyebrows, but his expression remains neutral. “That’s quite a while, isn’t it?”

Diana glances at Mulder quickly, her eyes conspiratorial, anticipatory. “Actually...Fox, do you want to tell them?”

Mulder smiles, placing his hand over Diana’s where it sits on the table. “Diana and I are engaged.”

Teena stands to hug them both and Bill shakes their hands stiffly, congratulating them. Mulder puts his arm around Diana, feeling for the first time in their engagement the sensation of _rightness_. Seeing the reactions of others, the indication that he’s finally doing something right, fulfilling some kind of plan, pushes away his doubts for the time being.

\--

Later that night, Mulder joins his father on the porch for a cigar. He hasn’t smoked in years, but he understands the rite of passage and appreciates the spirit of the thing. Besides, his mother had started discussing china patterns and guest lists with Diana and he had welcomed an escape.

“It’s about time you two got married,” his father says in an approving tone through a cloud of smoke. “You’re not getting any younger, Fox.”

Mulder laughs and sucks on his own cigar, blowing out the smoke slowly. “No need to remind me, Dad.”

“Maybe you can slow down now, stop letting that job control your life-” Mulder laughs sardonically and his father rolls his eyes. “I know, I know, I’m a hypocrite. But I spent all my time at work when you and your sister were growing up and look where that got me.”

Mulder, uncomfortable with the fact that this conversation seems to be closing in on the subject of _having children_ , changes the subject. The first thought that comes to his frantic mind isn’t the best choice, but it is what comes out of his mouth nonetheless.

“Did you ever have any doubts?” he asks, toying with the cigar in his hands. “About marrying Mom?”

His father looks at the ground and smiles wistfully, shaking his head. “No, it felt right. I don’t know what changed along the way-” They both do, but neither mention it. “But in that moment, it felt like it was meant to be. Like the entire universe had conspired to put the two of us together. Do you know what I mean?”

He really, really doesn’t. Mulder is a man who will believe in a lake monster at the first sighting of something in the water, or will take any sighting of flashing lights in the sky seriously. But he cannot bring himself to believe in an intrinsic feeling of _destiny_ when it comes to decisions like this one.

“Yes. I know exactly what you mean.” He extinguishes his cigar and heads inside. The high of the engagement announcement from earlier has worn off, leaving him with only a nagging doubt in the back of his mind. He pushes it back further.


	2. Chapter 2

**Martha’s Vineyard**

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather take one car, Fox?”

“No, it’s fine. Besides, I might get called back to D.C. suddenly and I don’t want to pull you away from your family to drive me there.” Mulder shivers and puts an arm around Diana as they walk away from his father’s house. This weather is shaping up to be quintessentially Christmas-like, and he can almost smell the snow in the clouds above.

Diana leans into him and puts an arm around his waist. “Well, alright. I just hope you don’t have to leave. I have a feeling that my family is going to be a bit more...receptive to the news than yours was. No offense.” she smiles at him a little.

Mulder shrugs and opens her car door for her. “Are you kidding? You got a handshake from my father! I think that’s the Mulder family equivalent of bursting out into song. You’ll see, over time.” She gives him a quick peck on the lips before ducking into her car.

“Oh, shoot.” Mulder mumbles to himself. Diana opens her car door a crack and raises her eyebrows.

“What?”

“I accidentally brought your father’s gift in when we arrived and I forgot it. I’ll grab it now.” He turns back toward the house.

“Alright, I’ll wait.” Diana says, letting out a long-suffering sigh. Mulder waves her off nonchalantly.

“No, you go on ahead. We’re already late. I’ll be ten minutes behind you.” he calls over his shoulder. Diana shrugs and drives off.

\--

The misanthrope in Mulder is annoyed by the holiday music blaring over the radio on his way to Diana’s parents’ house, but he can’t help but hum along to it under his breath for a few minutes. What can he say? Tonight is going better than expected. His parents are proud of him, he’s engaged to a lovely woman and they’re going to spend their Christmas with her family on the other side of the island.

Eventually, despite his high spirits, the upbeat and repetitive Christmas music gets old. Mulder messes with the radio dials until he finds another station.

_Welcome back to “You and Your Emotions”. I’m Dr. Marcia Fieldstone, broadcasting live across America from the top of the Sears Tower in Chicago. Tonight, we’re talking about wishes and dreams. What’s your wish this Christmas Eve?_

“I wish for a radio program that won’t give me cavities.” Mulder mumbles and changes the station.

_The subject of this evening’s Medical Update is “You and Your Spleen”-_

“Not on your life.” Mulder sighs and toggles between the stations available to him on the small island. The only other station he can get is broadcasting more holiday music.

Christmas Eve wishes it is, then.

_Washington D.C., go ahead._

“Hi, this is Emily-” there is a loud beep obscuring her last name.

_No last names, Emily. You sound younger than our callers. How old are you?_

“I’m eight.”

_How come you’re up so late?_

“I couldn’t sleep.”

_Understandable. Christmas Eve is very exciting, but you might want to go to sleep soon so Santa can stop by._

“Santa Claus isn’t real.” Emily says seriously. Mulder laughs out loud. What kind of skeptical eight-year-old is this? 

_Oh…alright. What’s your Christmas wish, Emily?_

“It’s not for me, it’s for my mom. I think she needs a new husband.” 

_You don’t like the one she has now?_

“She doesn’t have one now, that’s the problem.”

_Where’s your dad?_

“He died.”

Dr. Marcia makes a sympathetic noise as Mulder himself frowns. 

_Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that._

Emily sounds grave. “I’ve been pretty sad, but I think my mom’s worse.”

_Have you talked to your mom about this?_

“No.”

_Why not?_

“It’s like it makes her sadder.”

_I can understand that. Emily, is your mom home right now?_

“Yeah, she’s in her office.”

_Well, I’m sure that I can help, but I’m going to need you to help me help her. Why don’t you bring your mom to the phone?_

Mulder shakes his head. “Unbelievable,” he says.

Emily, hundred of miles away, seems to agree. “No way, she’d kill me!”

_Trust me, Emily. She won’t be angry when she realizes how concerned you are about her._

“Wanna bet?” Mulder asks the emptiness of his car, surprised by his own investment in the radio show.

Emily sounds apprehensive. “Okay, but if I get yelled at, I’ll never listen to your show again.”

Mulder glances at the clock on his dashboard. He has a good fifteen minutes left until he arrives at Diana’s parents’ house. He decreases his speed slightly, waiting to find out what will happen.

\--

**Washington, D.C.**

Dana pushes her round glasses up her nose and looks down at the medical files in front of her. She knows it’s absurd to be working this late on Christmas Eve, but Emily had gone to bed half an hour ago and she was not in the mood to ruminate on the loneliness of this particular holiday. Therefore, she had done what she always did: make a cup of tea and bury herself in work until the outside world was more hospitable.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a shout from Emily down the hall. “Mom?”

“Yeah?” she calls back, already taking off her glasses and standing.

“There’s someone on the phone for you.” Dana could have sworn that she hadn’t heard the phone ring, but she had probably just been too engrossed in her reading. She walks out into the living room and picks up the phone next to the couch. Emily watches her from the kitchen, still holding the other landline to her ear.

“Hello?” 

_Hello, Dana. This is Dr. Marcia Fieldstone on Network America._

Dana sighs. “Okay, what are you selling tonight? It’s a little late to buy wrapping paper.” she says, playing along. The woman on the other end of the phone chuckles.

_I’m not selling anything, I just want to help. I want you to know that your daughter called and asked me for some advice on how you might find a new husband._

Dana frowns in confusion, glancing at Emily, who is still listening on the other phone and looking at her innocently.

“Who is this?”

_Dr. Marcia Fieldstone. Of Network America. And you are on the air._ The woman is speaking slowly, as if Dana is a child.

Dana’s eyes widen in disbelief. “You called a radio station?” she hisses at Emily, covering the receiver with her hand. On the phone, the woman is asking if she is still there. “Yes...yes. I’m still here.” she says absently, looking at her daughter in confusion. Dana isn’t sure why she is still there, why she hasn’t hung up by now.

_Your daughter feels that since your husband’s death you’ve been very unhappy, and she’s genuinely worried about you._

Emily is watching her from the kitchen, her big blue eyes sad and imploring. Dana closes her eyes for a moment and pinches the bridge of her nose before waving Emily over to her.

“Come over here, I’m not going to go through this alone.”

Emily walks over, dragging the phone with her.

_I think it’s very hard for her to talk to you about this, and I thought maybe you and I could talk. It would make Emily feel a little better._

Oh, that’s a low blow. Dana resents the implication that she can’t emotionally support her daughter, that she is unapproachable. She’s been doing her damn best over the last year, juggling the move to D.C., her new job and her own grief while caring for Emily. All things considered, she thought that she’d been doing a decent job. Apparently not. The idea of Emily looking for a way to talk to her mother and turning to a radio show as her only option drops a massive amount of guilt squarely in Dana’s chest.

“Talk to her, Mom. She’s a doctor.”

Dana rolls her eyes. “Of what? I’m a doctor, do you think I’m qualified to give out relationship advice?” 

“Please?” Emily is still looking at her with a mixture of hope and sadness written across her little round face. 

_Dana, it’s her Christmas wish._

These words only add to the guilt Dana is feeling and she relents, settling down onto the couch. Emily crawls up onto the cushion next to her and they each hold a phone to their ear. She has no intention of finding a new husband via a surprise radio interview, but if this will really help Emily in some way, she is willing to humor Dr. Fieldstone and get it over with.

“Okay.”

_Okay, good. Now I know this is difficult, but how long ago did your husband die?_

Dana closes her eyes, willing tears to retreat. Perhaps she hasn’t been handling her own grief as well as she’d thought. “About a year and a half ago.”

_Have you had any relationships since?_

“No,” Dana admits begrudgingly.

_No? Why not?_

She sighs. “Marcia, or should I call you Dr. Fieldstone?”

_Dr. Marcia._

She rolls her eyes for what feels like the hundredth time that night. If anyone called her _Dr. Dana_ , she might need to relinquish her medical license. “Dr. Marcia, I don’t mean to be rude-”

_And I don’t want to invade your privacy._

Dana raises an eyebrow and can swear that out of the corner of her eye, she can see Emily doing the same on a smaller scale. Like mother, like daughter. “I doubt that.”

_Go on, Dana. I’m listening...Dana?_

How can she get this woman off her back? “We had a tough time at first, but we’re still moving forward. Emily and I will be fine as soon as I dismantle her radio.” Emily giggles and Dana wraps an arm around her. She pulls her daughter, her world, close to her. Despite the fact that calling a radio station and literally broadcasting her personal problems live on air is incredibly inappropriate, Dana can’t help but feel a warm tug at her heart at the thought that her daughter cares this much about her happiness.

Had that been enough to end this mortifying conversation? Apparently not, since Dr. Marcia is still talking.

_I’m sure that you’re a wonderful mother. You know, you can tell a lot from a person’s voice._

“You certainly can.” Dana responds sarcastically.

_But something must be missing if Emily still feels that you’re under a cloud. Now just a few questions. Are you sleeping at night?_

“She doesn’t sleep at all. She always stays up late working.” Emily responds. Dana glances at her daughter in betrayal, though she knows it’s not far from the truth.

“How do you know that?” she whispers.

“I live here, Mom.” Emily gives Dana a withering look.

“Look, it’s Christmas-”

_And it sounds like your daughter doesn’t believe in Santa Claus._

“That’s not my fault! I keep telling her to believe, but she just doesn’t want to.” she smiles, secretly proud of Emily’s critical worldview, and plays with a strand of her daughter’s soft hair fondly. “Anyways, Ethan, my husband, he really loved Christmas. He always covered the outside of the house in lights. And the inside, too.” She blinks repeatedly. These are just the type of thoughts she had been trying to avoid. “He made everything beautiful, and it’s just tough this time of year...without him. And any child needs a father.” Emily places one of her small hands on Dana’s leg and pats it a few times.

_Could it be that you need someone just as much as Emily does?_

Dana swallows and looks at the floor, unable to speak.

_Don’t answer that. Let’s get into that right after these messages. Dana, Emily, don’t go away. If you’re just tuning in, we’re talking to Wide Awake in Washington and we’ll be right back after this break with your listener response._

“What is she talking about?” Dana asks Emily quizzically.

“This is when other people get to call in and critique what you said.” Emily informs her.

“Perfect. Just perfect.” She looks at Emily, trying to put on a grateful smile. “Well...this is really fun. And helpful.” Dana isn’t sure she’s putting on a convincing performance, but she remains on the line all the same.

\--

Mulder listens intently to the radio and takes a swig from his gas station coffee. He had hurried back to his car after he heard the show come back from its break, the calming and slightly condescending voice of Dr. Marcia playing tinnily over the speakers. The two cashiers at the gas station had brightened at this, excited to hear the single mother with the sexy voice again. Mulder had glared at them and stormed out to his car, inexplicably incensed by the way they were talking about the poor woman on the radio. He had to admit, she had a nice voice, but for god’s sake, she was talking about her dead husband. _Have a little respect_ , he had thought as the gas station door closed behind him.

_If there was one question I was allowed to ask,_ a caller from Oakland begins, _People who truly loved once are far more likely to love again. Dana, do you think there’s someone out there you could love as much as your husband?_

“Well, it’s hard to imagine,” Dana says wearily over the radio.

_Mhm. What are you going to do?_

“Well, I’m going to get out of bed every morning, take care of my daughter, and go to work. And then one day, I won’t need to remind myself to get out of bed every morning. And I won’t have to think about how I had it great and perfect for a while.”

The woman, Dana, Wide Awake In Washington, sounds slightly defeated. Whether her tone is from her grief alone or from the fact that she had been volunteered for a radio appearance by her own daughter, Mulder cannot tell. But his heart hurts for her and Emily. He imagines this woman, somewhere in D.C., thinking back to memories of her husband and their holidays together. He blinks, feeling moisture under his eyes, running down the side of his nose. He swipes at it and wonders briefly how he would feel if he lost Diana.

_Dana, tell me what was so special about your husband._

“Well, how long is your program?” Dana’s voice is a messy combination of fondness and sadness. Something in Mulder’s chest aches. “Oh...there were so many little things, all pointing to the fact that we were supposed to be together. I knew it from the moment I met him. It felt like...clarity. Like meeting him put a new lens over my entire life and I could finally see for the first time. He held a door open for me, and our eyes met, and I knew. It was like…”

“Destiny,” Mulder says, remembering his thoughts from earlier.

“...destiny,” Dana says at the same time. Mulder blinks in surprise.

_Well folks, it’s time to wrap it up. I’m Dr. Marcia Fieldstone in Chicago, and to all my listeners, a magical and merry Christmas. And to you, Wide Awake in Washington, we hope you’ll call again soon and let us know how you’re doing._

“Oh, I will,” Dana says sarcastically. 

The program ends as Mulder parks outside his destination. He hastily checks his reflection in the rear view mirror, hoping that his tears from earlier won’t be too obvious to an observer. He can’t completely explain why he became so emotional. Something about that Dana and her story had gotten to him.

He walks up to the front door, wondering what it’s like to love and be loved so deeply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely responses so far! Please let me know what you think of this chapter! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Washington D.C. December 27th, 1992.**

“Hey Mulder, you don’t listen to Network America, do you?” Langly asks and glances at Mulder over his bulky computer monitor.

Mulder sighs and looks up from the printout he had been reading. Obtaining the information on it without having to entangle himself in bureaucratic red tape had been his motivation for visiting the headquarters of the Lone Gunmen, and he isn’t quite sure why he is still hanging around.

“Not usually, why?” he shifts uncomfortably, as if he is one slip-up short of confessing to a crime.

Langly explains himself enthusiastically. “We wouldn’t have heard about it-the only show we really pay attention to is Coast to Coast AM-but lately we’ve been keeping tabs on phone activity in major cities across the country-” Mulder gives Langly a hard look, they’ve had the _need to know basis_ and _plausible deniability_ discussion before. “Anyways, that station lit up like a Christmas tree from all the calls it was getting but we haven’t had time to check up on it yet.”

“Do you have any idea what caused such a high frequency of calls on Christmas Eve?” Byers asks from the other side of the room where he is helping Frohike untangle a mass of cables.

“Uh, yeah, actually I do.” Mulder says, tucking his reading glasses into the pocket of his jacket. 

“Alright, spill then,” Langly says, clearly itching for information. Mulder can almost see the connecting lines being formed in Langly’s brain between the radio incident and the conspiracy of the week.

Mulder pauses, considering how best to describe what had happened. “There was a program about Christmas wishes. You know, the kind of fluff that plays during holidays and causes accidents by putting drivers to sleep. Anyways, an eight-year-old girl called the station and told the host that her mother needed a new husband because the last one died. And then they got the mother on the phone-”

“Was she hot?” Frohike interrupts eagerly.

Mulder turns to him. “It was a radio program, how am I supposed to know?”

“Fine then, was her voice hot?”

 _Yes_ , Mulder’s subconscious supplies. “It was fine.” he answers evenly. “They called her Wide Awake in Washington because she lives in D.C. and her daughter said she never sleeps.”

“So that’s why Network America got flooded with calls? Over a sob story? It was probably just actors anyways,” Langly says dismissively, resuming his energetic typing.

Mulder shrugs. “Sounded pretty real to me.”

“I can see the appeal.” Frohike says. “Especially if her voice was hot.” Mulder frowns at his suggestive tone and crosses his arms, looking back down at his papers.

“Hey, watch it Frohike, I think Mulder’s feeling a little territorial.” Langly says, not tearing his eyes away from his screen.

“How many times do I have to remind you all that I’m engaged?” Mulder says defensively. “You know, women exist in real life too, not just in magazines and on computer screens. And if you play your cards right, they might even want to spend time with you.”

Frohike smirks. It’s unnerving. “Yep, he’s got it bad for Wide Awake in Washington. Sorry, Mulder.”

Mulder groans in frustration, roughly shoving the papers in his coat pocket. “Thanks for the help, boys. Have a happy new year.”

**Washington D.C. December 31st, 1992. 11:55 PM**

Although his profiling days are behind him, a perk of once being the Violent Crime Section’s golden boy was getting invited to the holiday parties for Bureau higher-ups. Mulder and Diana dance closely with each other in the throng of slightly-drunk federal agents. Diana had pulled him onto the dance floor earlier that night, citing the need to see his dancing abilities up close before their wedding reception, and they had discovered together that he is surprisingly still light on his feet.

“Fox,“ she says, looking him in the eye. “I was thinking about Valentine’s Day.”

Mulder looks at the large screen onto which the New Year’s celebrations in Times Square are being projected as if to make sure it really is still December. “What about it?”

Diana places one of her hands at the nape of his neck, threading her nails through his short hair and scratching gently. “I’m going to be in New York City for a meeting with some representatives from the UN. I was thinking you could come with me. I should be free by that evening and we could go out.”

Mulder considers it. “I might be working…”

Diana leans in closer to him. “You know how much I care about the X-Files too, even if I’m no longer working on them directly. I mean, that project is basically our baby. I understand how demanding it is.” He swallows uncomfortably and nods along. “But I think the world will survive for a day or two if you take a little break. Maybe we could even start to register for the wedding.” She looks at him hopefully through her lashes.

Her perfume is both cloying and intoxicating, and the warmth of her breath on his neck only adds to his stupor. The word _register_ bounces around his head but he finds no sense in it. Why do they need to register for anything? They’re both adults with their own wine glasses and toasters and waffle irons. He hears the countdown begin around them and shrugs. “Okay. Maybe.”

Diana smiles at him a little, clearly still not completely satisfied, and kisses him at the stroke of midnight.

Later, when she collapses on top of him, both of them breathing heavily and slick with sweat, she nuzzles her face in the crook of his neck and asks him, sweetly, once more about Valentine’s Day. She kisses the sensitive spot behind his ear when he finally acquiesces. He swallows down his nausea, chalking the feeling up to the drinks he’d had a few hours ago.

\--

**Washington D.C., December 31st, 1992, 11:59 PM**

“Em,” Dana says softly, patting her sleeping daughter’s shoulder. “It’s almost time for the ball drop, don’t you want to see it?”

In response, Emily curls up even tighter around her stuffed animal and yawns. Dana carefully removes the party hat that had become folded and lopsided from her head and watches the television passively. The countdown passes, feeling much longer than ten seconds as always, and suddenly it is a new year. As soon as the fireworks on the screen subside, she picks Emily up and carries her to her room. Dana’s legs shake a little as she carries her, owing both to the fact that at eight, Emily is probably too old to be carried, and that Dana has not grown in height since the ninth grade.

Dana sets Emily down in her bed gently and kisses her forehead, certain that she’s asleep. However, as she stands to leave, Emily whispers. “Can you stay?”

An old tradition, born out a night of exhaustion when Emily was a toddler and neither Dana nor Ethan could be bothered to put her to bed after the New Year’s festivities. They’d all slept in one bed, Emily sandwiched between her parents. What had started on a tired whim had become a New Year’s ritual, _starting the new year as a family_ , as Ethan called it one year.

Now, for the second year in a row, it’s just the two of them. Dana can’t refuse Emily this small tradition, even if she herself wants nothing more than to curl up on the couch downstairs so she doesn’t have to be reminded of the absence in her bed. “Of course.” she replies before sliding onto the twin mattress next to Emily, pulling the blanket over them both.

Emily burrows close to her in their blanket nest and Dana holds her even closer, as if hanging on to the family she has left will stop any more of it from being taken away. 

As she drifts off, Dr. Marcia’s question resurfaces in her head.

_Could it be that you need someone just as much as Emily does?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would apologize for how slow of a slow burn this is but if you've seen the movie I think you know exactly why it is the way it is
> 
> Thank you once again for all the feedback!! Please keep it coming if you feel so inclined! I love reading everyone's thoughts on new chapters :)
> 
> find me on tumblr @ midwest-cryptid


	4. Chapter 4

**Washington D.C., January 5th, 1993, 9:00 PM**

Dana trudges up the path to her building, fighting the bitter wind with every step. She’s completely worn out after a long shift. Her feet ache, both she and her scrubs probably reek, and even her hair hurts from being pulled back for so many hours. She’s going to pay the babysitter, run herself a bath and try to scrub the stress of the last day from her body and memory.

However, when she arrives at her front door, Dana discovers that she has bigger problems to contend with than the bra currently wedging its way between her ribs. She catches the babysitter-overwhelmed, confused- carrying dozens of stacks of letters into the apartment. Apparently, they’d arrived en masse and there are many more waiting inside. Dana dismisses the babysitter, paying her a little more than usual, and starts sifting through the mountain of mail.

“Wide Awake in Washington, care of Dr. Marcia Fieldstone…” she reads the mailing address of one letter. Emily watches her from the couch, where she is reading a Goosebumps book. 

“And how exactly did they get our address, Emily?” Dana asks testily, crossing her arms.

Emily turns to look at her. “They called and asked for it.” she states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And let me guess, you gave them our phone number?”

Emily huffs. “They wouldn’t let me on the air if I didn’t, Mom.”

“Right, that makes perfect sense.” she grumbles as she kicks off her shoes and trudges into the bathroom to start her bath.

“Dear Wide Awake in Washington,” Emily reads from one letter authoritatively, following her, “you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid ears on.“ She rolls her eyes. “That’s stupid.”

Dana plucks the letter out of her hands and tosses it into the trash can. “Yes, it is.” She makes a mental note to discard the rest of the letters later, well aware of the inappropriate messages that could be inside.

“Hey Mom,” Emily pipes up, inexplicably holding another open letter. “This guy says he’s willing to travel anywhere! That’s good, right?”

Dana leaves the bathtub to fill and walks back into the living room, rolling her neck slowly to release the tension there. “It is _not_ good. This is basically the adult version of stranger danger.” She turns to Emily and raises an eyebrow. “Remember how I told you that you should never go with an adult you don’t know, even if they say I said it was alright?” Emily nods. “You can’t trust letters from strangers, especially when they’re sending declarations of love to women they’ve never met. What kind of normal person does that?” She shakes her head and assesses the sheer volume of mail in front of her, wondering for a fleeting moment if they would all fit in her fireplace at once. “Besides, this is not how it’s done.”

“How is it done?” Emily asks innocently.

Dana thinks for a moment, checking on the water level in the tub and turning the tap off. “You talk to someone, get to know them. That way you can actually start to tell whether you’re interested in them in that way.”

Emily stands with her in the steamy haze of the bathroom, listening carefully. Dana continues, her tired voice transitioning into her teaching voice she sometimes uses at the hospital. “Then, once you find somebody you might like, you can go out for drinks or dinner and see if you really do like them. But you can’t tell if you like somebody from a letter.”

“I thought you told Dr. Marcia that meeting Dad felt like destiny. Maybe one of these letters will feel like destiny, too.” Dana can hear the longing tone in Emily’s voice, and she’s touched once again by how much her daughter wants her to be happy.

Dana kneels down to Emily’s level and looks her in the eye. “You dad was different.” she says softly.

Emily nods dejectedly and walks out of the bathroom. Dana sighs, feeling unsatisfied with how that conversation ended, before stripping out of her scrubs and lowering herself into the bath.

\--

“Oh my god!” Melissa exclaims, causing Dana to pull the phone away from her ear quickly. “I can’t believe you’re going to start dating again! Do you want me to set you up? There are a couple great guys at work you might-”

“No, no,” Dana interrupts, slightly regretting calling her sister for advice on this particular topic. On one hand, she’s grateful for any wisdom Melissa may have to impart. On the other hand, she’s aware that even mentioning the possibility of dating is opening a veritable Pandora’s box. No going back. “I don’t want you to set me up. I just wanted to know...what it’s like out there. It’s been so long since I’ve dated, obviously. And if I ever decide to try again, I just want to be prepared.”

“Right, right,” Melissa says, clearly not believing her. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. Not that much has changed in the last ten years. Dull small talk on the first date, one dessert with two spoons, lots of men are still frustratingly boring but sexy. Some things never change.”

Dana smiles. She had missed talking to her sister like this. She feels like a teenager again, whispering about boys with Missy in the darkness of their shared bedroom, feeling scandalous over preteen crushes. “That’s what I figured, but I just wanted to see if I had missed any big changes. Good to know I was right when I told Emily I wasn’t going to meet a new man via the postal service.”

“She’s really pushing the _new husband thing,_ huh?”

Dana sighs. “Unfortunately, yes. And I don’t want to disappoint her or make her feel like there’s something missing from our family, but I wish she hadn’t gone about telling me how she feels in the way she did.”

Melissa chuckles over the phone. “You know, some of my coworkers were talking about _Wide Awake in Washington_ the other day. Imagine their surprise when I told them that she was my sister!”

Dana smiles fondly at her sister’s excited tone. “Well, I’m glad someone is enjoying the glamour of it all. Thanks, Missy.”

“No problem, Dana. Give Emily a hug for me.”

“Will do.”

\--

**The Hoover Building, Basement Office, January 8th, 1993, 2:45 AM**

It’s been too many hours since Mulder has seen daylight. The lights in the basement office to which he’s been relegated are a poor substitute for the real thing, but a vitamin D deficiency is low on his list of concerns as he pours over case details, planning out his every investigative move starting with the plane’s wheels hitting the ground in Colorado later that day. It’s a pretty standard animal mutilation case (if bovine exsanguination can ever be considered _standard_ ) and he is eager to get to work on it in person.

Mulder is not even close to approaching tired, his thoughts branching off of each other and finding new directions quickly. He barely has time to consider any idea deeply, and it crosses his mind that his lack of focus could betray a need for sleep. Still, going home and lying down would not help him or the case at this moment. He's jittery, chewing on sunflower seeds and spitting the shells out on his desk. His brain faintly registers a stomach ache from lack of dinner and mounting anticipatory anxiety.

He leans back in his chair, loosening his already-loose tie and tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. If he squints, the puncture marks from bygone pencils could be stars.

Maybe he does need rest.

Reaching over to the cabinet diagonal from his desk, he switches a small radio on, thinking that perhaps some music will help to clear his head. He’s expecting mindless pop or late-night jazz, but instead he hears an announcer.

_Welcome back to the voice of Dr. Marcia Fieldstone, clinical psychologist and the friend you never had._

Mulder takes issue with the insinuation that he doesn’t have friends. Then, he thinks back to his meeting with the Lone Gunmen and silences that line of thought before it turns into self-pity. Some friends they were, although they had their moments. He has Diana, and they say that your romantic partner is supposed to be your best friend, anyway. Suddenly, a familiar voice fills the room and Mulder almost chokes on the sunflower seed in his mouth as he inhales sharply.

_Well, I’m going to get out of bed every morning, take care of my daughter, and go to work. And then one day, I won’t need to remind myself to get out of bed every morning. And I won’t have to think about how I had it great and perfect for a while._

The recording of the previous broadcast continues and Mulder tilts his chair back on two of its legs, once again staring at the comforting monochrome of the ceiling. He listens to Wide Awake in Washington, Dana, speak about her late husband and lets her articulate words wash over him like a cleansing wave. As much as he feels relieved of his stress by listening, he feels the traitorous prickling of tears at the corner of his eyes once again.

Mulder closes his eyes and inhales deeply, wondering what the hell is wrong with him that’s causing him to react so emotionally to the words of a stranger. He can’t even compare his experiences to her own- although he was swallowed by grief and confusion after Samantha disappeared, there had always been hope that she was out there somewhere, a lack of closure acting as both a blessing and a curse. Besides, he thinks as he listens to the melancholy tone of Dana’s voice as she describes the feeling of destiny upon meeting her husband- he’s never felt that way about anyone, not even-

“Fox,”

Mulder’s chair slams back onto the floor and he opens his eyes to see Diana standing in the doorway of his office with her arms crossed across her chest.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, turning around to switch the radio off.

Diana walks over to him, clearly assessing the chaotic state of his desk and the unwashed and disorderly state of her fiance. “I could ask you the same thing. You haven’t been answering my calls.” She frowns. “I was worried.”

Mulder runs a hand through his messy hair and stands, brushing the sunflower seed shells off of his desk and into the wastebasket. Diana steps up to him and places a hand on his cheek, running her thumb gently underneath his eye where there is probably a shadow forming. “Were you asleep?” she asks.

He nods and slides his arms into his coat. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I was just reviewing some notes for tomorrow-” he glances at his watch. “Or technically today, I guess.”

Diana smiles sympathetically and tugs on his wrist. “Come on, let’s go home and sleep.”

He follows her out of the office and back to Alexandria dutifully, the word _destiny_ settling itself quite comfortably and annoyingly at the forefront of his mind.

\--

**January 8th, 1993. 2:00 PM**

They say that doctors make the worst patients. This is also true for psychologists, who are particularly difficult to therapize. The difficulty is two-fold for Mulder, who is currently both doing the therapizing and lying on the proverbial _chaise longue._ Mulder has always had a problem with fixating on certain thoughts, letting them drag him around in circles for hours. Now, with nothing to do but think on his flight to Colorado, a new thought has grabbed him by the back of the shirt and yanked.

Cold feet. That must be what it is. The reason why he has been so affected by the story of Wide Awake in Washington must stem from his own subconscious reservations about getting married. To hear someone talk about a feeling of _destiny_ when referencing their spouse, and then to not be able to relate to that feeling, would make anyone wonder about the person who had experienced the fated feeling in the first place. 

Of course, if he follows that line of thinking to its logical conclusion, he arrives at the thought that he is not entirely certain he wants to marry Diana. But he had asked her! Albeit, he had asked her after weeks of hinting and subsequent passive aggression on her part (for which she could not be blamed given how long he had dragged his feet in the relationship). Mulder had asked Diana to marry him because he wanted to marry her and that was the end of it, regardless of any fleeting concerns he has now.

So where does that leave him with Wide Awake in Washington? Heightened emotional vulnerability brought on by increased workplace demands and stress? He profiles himself as an absolute mess and orders an irish coffee, forcing the rest of his thoughts to be about animal mutilation, which is suddenly a much friendlier subject.

\--

**Bethesda Naval Hospital, January 10th, 1993, 3:15 PM**

She’s just finishing up an autopsy, removing her cap and glasses, when there is a knock on the autopsy room door. Dana glances over at the source of the noise to find a man in a suit standing in the doorway, holding up a badge.

“Can I help you?” she asks, walking in the man’s direction.

“Special Agent Tom Colton, FBI. Are you the pathologist working on the Brown case?” he’s professional and curt, getting right to the point.

“Yes, I am.” Dana responds, shaking his hand.

Agent Colton spends the next fifteen minutes asking her questions about her findings. He seems eager to glean any useful information out of her, hungry for answers without any emotional investment in what had killed the man she’d been examining. Afterwards, he watches Dana clean up and walks down the morgue hallway with her.

“Dr. Scully- can I call you Dana?”

She nods, wondering where this is going. Agent Colton had been completely professional up until this point, but now he is standing closer to her and looking at her differently. “Sure.”

“I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me sometime, or maybe just drinks? Whatever you prefer.” He says it like a practiced line, well-worn into the muscle memory of his mouth. He’s very sure of himself, and Dana isn’t sure how she feels about that.

She thinks about his question for perhaps a moment too long and his eyes bore into hers before she nods. “Sure, that would be fine.”

Agent Colton smiles widely and pulls a small notepad and pen out of his jacket pocket. “Great! I’ll call you later to go over the details. What’s your number?”

Dana tells him her number, feeling like this development is a step in the right direction for all the wrong reasons. At least Emily and Melissa will be pleased.

\--

**Headquarters of the Lone Gunmen, January 12th, 1993, 10:47 PM**

Bachelor Night with the Lone Gunmen. Mulder isn’t sure what separates _Bachelor Night_ from every other night for the three conspiracy theorists except for the fact that he is here. Some time ago, when Mulder and Diana had just started seeing each other, he had visited the LGM lair for some help with satellite images and had stayed for a few beers and some poker. Byers had cheerfully called the occasion a _Bachelor Night_ since Mulder was hanging out with them instead of, he imagined, staying home that Friday night and having lots of sex with his hot new girlfriend. Unfortunately, the name had stuck, even well into Mulder and Diana’s engagement. At least it’s poker instead of Dungeons and Dragons (most of the time).

They’re lounging around the small kitchen while Langly enthusiastically outlines a new theory concerning a government coverup of cross-dimensional travel. Mulder sips his beer and nods thoughtfully, mentally searching through the X-Files he’s read so far to check for similarities, while Frohike interjects with arguments about semantics and Byers acts as a mediator between the old rivals.

Mulder zones out for a moment and pats the front pocket of his jeans, making sure the letter he had penned on the flight back from Colorado is still there. He’s not sure how long he’s going to carry it around, or even whether he intends to mail it, but he is damn sure that he doesn’t want anyone else reading it.

Unfortunately for him, he’s in a room with three people who specialize in snooping into other people’s secrets. Frohike glances down at Mulder’s hand and then looks up at him.

“Whatcha got there, Mulder?” he asks curiously.

Mulder shrugs, trying with all his might to appear nonchalant. “Just a uh, utility bill that I forgot to pay.” He can feel the tension in his own shoulders as he speaks. Why is he so good at working under pressure when a criminal is pointing a gun at him but not when he’s lying to his friends?

Langly, tongue loosened by the alcohol more than the rest of them due to his lanky frame, laughs. “Bullshit.” He reaches for Mulder’s front pocket and Mulder pushes him away half-heartedly. While he is distracted, Frohike grabs the letter and reads it aloud.

_Dear Wide Awake In Washington,_

_My name is Fox Mulder, although I usually just go by Mulder. I think you can probably understand why. I also live in D.C. and find myself sleepless most nights, so we have that in common._

_I just wanted to say that your story touched me and that I am very sorry for your loss. It’s clear that you care about your daughter and she cares about you, and it’s good to know that you two have each other._

_If you ever need a friend in D.C. (or need a favor from the FBI), feel free to respond. If not, that’s fine, because I’m sure I’m not the only weirdo writing to you right now. Sorry about that._

_Also, if you happen to be in New York City on February 14th and need a distraction from the capitalist, soul-sucking, migraine-inducing holiday that is Valentine’s Day, I’ll be there too. How does the top of the Empire State Building sound?_

_Sincerely,_

_Fox Mulder_

_PS: I promise I’m not a psychopath or murderer. I’m a psychologist and an FBI agent so I would know if I was. Ha ha._

Mulder looks at his shoes as the letter is read aloud and finally looks up to see the three Lone Gunmen gawking at him.

“I wasn’t planning on sending it.” he says defensively, holding up his hands in front of him.

“Dude…” is all that Langly says. Frohike reads the letter to himself again under his breath and chuckles. 

“Why not? It doesn’t seem that bad to me,” Byers offers.

“Why not?” Mulder parrots incredulously. “Because it’s an insane thing to do. I can’t just send a letter to a woman I’ve never met because I heard her on the radio once. I just needed to write it to...get it off my chest.” he paces around the room and runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Although,” Byers says slowly, “Maybe she does need a friend here. It’s probably hard, raising a kid and moving across the country and working full time as a pathologist.” His eyes widen slightly and he clamps his mouth shut.

Mulder turns to stare at all three of them suspiciously. “How do you know all that about her?”

“We...may have done a little background check of our own on her after you stopped by last time.” Frohike says slowly, reluctantly. “Just in case this was going to go anywhere. She works at Bethesda and she lives in Georgetown-”

“Enough!” Mulder interrupts angrily. “That’s incredibly invasive, you guys. Do you have any idea what kind of attention from creeps that broadcast has probably gotten her? She doesn’t need even more people diving into her personal details.” He feels incredibly guilty on the LGM’s behalf, suddenly realizing how out-of-character writing the letter had been on his part. But still, Byers did have a point. What if she ever needed help from the FBI? If she really was a pathologist, their lines of work weren’t so different, and maybe they would need to cross paths in a professional setting sometime. Really, sending the letter would just be a form of friendly networking. Nothing more. And if she threw it away without reading it, that would be fine by him.

“Do you have her address?” Mulder asks quietly, shocked by the words coming out of his own mouth. Byers nods and Mulder sighs. “Grab a stamp and envelope for me, would you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this (slightly) longer chapter! I'm having a lot of fun writing it and I hope you are having fun reading it. Please let me know what you think in the comments!
> 
> find me on tumblr @ midwest-cryptid


	5. Chapter 5

**Georgetown, D.C., January 14th, 1993, 6:50 PM**

Dana regards herself critically in the bathroom mirror. Her hair is as perfect as it is going to get, her makeup is neat, and her white dress has made it through a primping session without a single stain or crease. Overall, given that she hasn’t been on a date since Reagan’s first term, she feels pretty good.

However, it appears that she is the only optimistic member of her household at the moment.

“But Mom,” Emily continues to pester her from outside the locked bathroom door. “If you want to marry someone in the FBI, you should read this letter. His name is Mulder and he works for the FBI, too!” Her daughter’s voice is high-pitched and whining. Dana can’t wait to get out of the apartment for a few hours. Conflict resolution has never been her strong suit.

She checks her teeth for lipstick residue one more time before swinging the door open. Emily looks up at her, letter in hand.

“You know, not every date is about getting married. Sometimes it’s just about going out and having fun, talking to someone,” she says, walking into the living room and stepping into her heels. She wonders if her dress is too much, suddenly fighting the urge to rush back into her bedroom to change into something a little more conservative. No, she decides. Her first instinct in choosing the outfit had been right. The white lace of the dress looks nice in contrast to her red hair, which is up and away from her face. She feels young and wanted, less like a cranky, overworked single mother and more like a woman someone could desire. She’s probably not being fair to herself, but it doesn’t matter right now.

Besides, if her look is a bit much, she’s not taking much of a gamble. Tom seemed nice, but she certainly hadn’t fallen in love with him while discussing the details of an autopsy the other day.

Emily trudges over to the couch and sits, still reading the letter. “He says that he has trouble sleeping too! It’s good to have similarities with someone when you date them, right?”

Dana shakes her head and takes the letter out of Emily’s hands, skimming it. It’s one of the most respectful letters she’s received as a result of the Wide Awake in Washington Incident (her curiosity had gotten the better of her, causing her to read through some of them). However, the fact that this Mulder seems to be a decent person and lives in the area doesn’t change the fact that meeting a stranger, especially a man, based on a single letter is both completely insane and extremely dangerous. She wonders if Tom knows Agent Mulder, but decides against bringing it up over their first date. Hopefully the conversation won’t be so awkward that she is forced to such an extreme.

There is a knock at the door, followed by the voice of the babysitter letting herself in. Dana sits next to Emily and hands the letter back to her, placing a hand gently on her shoulder.

“I know it might be weird to see me go out with a man that’s not your dad...even if you were the one who told the entire world that you want me to get remarried.” she amends and Emily smiles a little. “But, I promise that this is just a get-to-know-you date, nothing serious. Okay?” 

Emily nods reluctantly. “I still think you should give Agent Mulder a chance,” she mutters.

Dana smiles a little. “I know you do. Thank you for caring so much about me, but I think I can take it from here.” she glances at the clock, noticing that Tom should probably be arriving to pick her up any minute now. She wants to meet him outside to avoid an interaction between him and Emily. “I have to go. Be good and I’ll see you later.” she kisses Emily’s head, just above her bangs. “I love you.”

Dana hands a list of emergency numbers to the babysitter and steps out into new territory.

\--

**Dupont Circle, Washington D.C., 7:30 PM**

Dana is starting to envy the corpse that she had autopsied that morning. Having her brain removed sounds like a dream compared to the awkward, stilted conversation she and Tom are suffering through right now. They keep interrupting each other accidentally, or finding themselves in awkward silences. She’s starting to wonder how best to escape the situation when their server approaches the table.

“Ms. Scully? There’s a phone call for you.”

Dana looks at Tom apologetically. “I’m sorry, I have to take this. I left my daughter with the babysitter.”

“Of course, of course,” he says quickly. Dana is led to a phone at the back of the restaurant, images of accidentally swallowed cleaning products and overflowing sinks and ovens ablaze flickering through her mind.

“Hello?” She says anxiously into the phone.

“Mom, can we go to New York City for Valentine’s Day?” Emily asks on the other end, not at all sounding injured or in peril. Dana is almost annoyed at how chipper she sounds.

“Pardon me?”

“Agent Mulder from the FBI wants to meet us at the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day,” Emily explains.

Dana grinds her teeth, glancing back at the table where Tom is sitting, perusing the menu. “Emily, I am on a date. I am not going to have this conversation with you now. Or ever. Please go to bed.” There’s only a sigh and a click in response.

Dana releases the tension in her jaw, pushes her shoulders back, and returns to the table with renewed ambition. She had gotten this date all on her own. Hell, she had been asked out. She didn’t need the help of her daughter or Dr. Marcia Fieldstone or any random man with a radio. She would make this work.

“Is everything alright?” Tom asks when she sits back down.

Dana takes a small sip of her wine. “Tom, do you have kids?”

“No…”

“Do you want mine?” she deadpans. He looks confused until she cracks a smile, and then they are both laughing.

The rest of the meal passes more easily than the beginning. Tom does most of the talking, and she lets him. He talks about his job, the challenges the Violent Crimes Section presents, stories from the Academy, his plans for moving up the chain of command sooner rather than later. He doesn’t ask her many questions about herself, but she is too distracted by the intrigue of being an FBI agent to care. While he rambles about some outlandish conspiracy theorist that recently left the VCS, she finds herself wondering if Quantico is in need of pathologists, and whether they need to attend the Academy, too.

The check shows up and Tom reaches for it, somehow making a show of not looking at the amount, sending a message through inaction. Dana wonders whether he is expecting her to put out tonight, deciding for herself that she may be ready to go on a date, but sex is out of the question for the time being. This night already feels like something of a Herculean task for her.

Luckily, he drives her home, asking a few polite questions about her job and her daughter on the way. She answers them, trying to avoid the topics of her late husband and the incident on Christmas Eve to make the ride less awkward. Tom had never mentioned whether he had heard her that night, and she would never volunteer that information on her own.

He drops her off outside her building and walks her to the front door. They stand there for a moment before he kisses her on the cheek and bids her goodnight. Dana walks inside, depositing her heels at the door and slumping down on the couch as if she had just run a marathon. The date had been nice, pleasant, but she isn’t head over heels for Tom by any stretch of the imagination. She can’t decide if she wants to go out with him again. While she ponders the events of the night, she looks down at the coffee table where the letter from Agent Mulder sits. For some reason, she leaves it there instead of throwing it away.

Well, she had said it herself. The kind of destiny that led to her first marriage only happens once. Why should she expect her experience with Tom to compare?

\--

**Alexandria, VA, January 20th, 1993, 10:30 PM**

The sound of the phone ringing down the hall wakes Mulder from his half-asleep daze. He had always had trouble falling asleep, and thinking with his eyes closed is the closest he can get some nights. Tonight is one of those nights.

He extricates himself from Diana’s tangled, slumbering limbs and shuffles down the hall in his socks.

“Mulder,” he whispers into the phone.

“Mulder, it’s Langly. Turn on your radio. Network America.” Before he can respond, the dial tone sounds in his ear. Mulder is torn between going back to bed, to the warmth and familiar sleeping sounds of Diana, and pursuing whatever odd tip Langly has just given him. Like always, his curiosity wins out and he grabs their radio from the mantle and carries it into the bathroom on the other side of the apartment, where it won’t wake his fiancee.

He sits in the tub and pulls the shower curtain closed. A young and instantly recognizable voice fills the bathroom and he panics, turning down the volume.

“She’s kissing him right now! I have to make them stop!”

_Emily, are you spying on your mother?_

“No! But I got out of bed to get a glass of water and I saw them on the couch and they’re kissing! What do I do?!”

Mulder feels for the kid. Her panicked voice matches the anxiety welling up in him. Who is Dana kissing? He gives himself a shake, a reminder that he has less than no claim to this woman and that he has a fiancee asleep in the other room. Still, he listens on.

_Emily, it’s good that your mother is dating. She should be allowed to judge who is right for her and choose what she does. She’s an adult. I know these changes can be scary, but it’s important to tell her how you feel in a constructive way._

“Constructive, right.” Emily pauses for a moment, then hangs up. Mulder can’t be sure, but he thinks he heard a shout from her end of the phone before the click. He holds the radio in his lap and stares at a bit of mildew in the corner of the shower while contemplating what he just heard. Before he can analyze why he cares so much about who Dana Scully is kissing across town, the shower curtain swings open and Diana stands before him in her robe and nothing else.

“What are you doing?” she asks crossly.

Mulder stands and runs a hand through his hair, setting the small radio on the bathroom counter. “Langly called and told me about an interview with a recent abductee, he thought it was important. Just a load of crap.” he shakes his head wearily and takes her hand, guiding her back to bed. “Sorry that I woke you up.”

Diana climbs under the sheets with him, shedding her robe and dropping it on the floor. His body reacts predictably, although his mind is still reeling. “Well, I’m awake now. Care to make it up to me?”

He nods and slowly climbs on top of her, intending to kiss her neck and take his time. However, she pushes his head down beneath the covers, where she wants it. He indulges her, letting her guide his movements and maneuver him as his mind floats away from his body, feeling that this is the least he can do for her.

He can’t even bring himself to feel ashamed while wondering if Dana Scully is engaged in similar acts at this very moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the support and feedback! Reading the comments on this fic never fails to make me smile. Please let me know what you think of this chapter.
> 
> find me on tumblr @ midwest-cryptid


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm counting this for fictober day 3 :)

Emily, to her credit, has worked herself up into quite a believable panic by the time her mother and _that man_ get off the couch and run into the kitchen. She digs deep for inspiration and bases her performance on the time she saw a Black Widow spider back in San Diego. Although she had looked up the spider at the library later and had assuaged her own fears, the memory of stomach-churning fear is strong enough to replicate.

Dana, to _her_ credit, is handling the situation as well as could be expected. She had been curled up on the couch with Tom, experiencing her first kiss since the death of her husband almost two years ago and enjoying it, when Emily’s piercing scream interrupted her. She’d sprung off the couch at the sound, accidentally pushing Tom out of the way and into the striped cushions, and sprinted into the kitchen to find Emily backed up against the refrigerator, standing on her tiptoes and hyperventilating.

Once she’d been assured that an axe murderer had not been about to murder her daughter, Dana had calmed down significantly. She sits at the kitchen table with Emily now as Tom stands behind her, a hand on her shoulder.

“Emily, this doesn’t make any sense,” she says, looking at the girl closely. “I thought you told me spiders were too cool to be afraid of _months_ ago.”

Emily shrugs, wriggling a bit under the pressure of her mother’s skeptical gaze. “It was, um, a fight or flight reaction,” she says, recalling the phrase from a book she’d read recently.

Dana smiles a little. “And instead of fighting or running you chose screaming and scaring me half to death?” Emily bristles at the idiom and Dana frowns. “Sorry, sweetie.” She stands and picks Emily up, walking in the direction of her bedroom. Tom waves at her awkwardly as they retreat and Emily, for all her cherubic features and inherent cuteness, narrows her eyes at him with a glare that could burn a hole through steel. Tom drops his hand.

Dana sets Emily down in bed gently and pulls the covers over her, tucking her in. “The next time you _think_ you see a Black Widow spider in the kitchen, please try to remain calm. Just tell me, in an indoor voice, and I’ll take care of it.”

“Dad always used to take the spiders outside and release them,” Emily says in a small voice, her unhappiness no longer pretend. Dana smiles sadly and runs a hand through her hair.

“I remember. He never wanted to hurt them if he didn’t have to,”

“Would you have killed the spider tonight if there was one, Mom?”

Dana shakes her head. “No, I wouldn’t have,” she leans down to kiss Emily on the forehead. “Try to get some sleep, please. I love you.” With one last fond ruffle of her daughter’s hair, Dana stands back up and leaves the room, turning off the lights as she goes.

Emily stares at the ceiling, torn between listening for further kissing noises through the thin walls of the apartment and thinking about the time her father had captured a spider between a playing card and a bottle cap in order to release it. Thinking about her father only makes her compare him to the tall, loud man her mother had been kissing. Emily crosses her arms stubbornly, but despite her frustration, she falls asleep within minutes.

**Bethesda Naval Hospital, January 23rd, 1993 9:36 AM**

Tom’s car pulls up outside of the hospital, a blue dot in a white haze. The windshield wipers and headlights are doing absolutely nothing against the power of the snowstorm outside. Any sane person would stay home in weather like this, but as long as time continues to march on, there will be people dying and bodies to cut open. Thus, despite the fact that Emily’s school had been cancelled, the car battery had died from exposure and the babysitter was unavailable, Dana finds herself going to work, daughter in tow.

“Thanks for the ride, Tom. I hope we aren’t holding you up too much.” Dana says, twisting her body to reach into the backseat of the car and wrap Emily’s scarf more securely around her face and neck.

Tom smiles. “Anytime. That’s a perk of the FBI, the irregular hours. Plus, I make my own schedule now.” he says smugly.

Dana, pleased with her efforts to save her daughter from frostbite during their impending fifteen-second walk from the car to the hospital door, pulls her own hood up.

“Well, if the weather lets up, maybe you can come over for dinner later,”

He shrugs. “I’ll have to see if there’s time. I’m in the middle of a case that could really impress the guys upstairs if I play my cards right.”

“Oh. Well, that’s alright. Have a nice day.”

Tom leans over to give Dana a quick peck on the lips and Emily rolls her eyes. When she un-rolls them, Tom is smiling at her hesitantly. “Bye Emily, have a good day shadowing your mom.”

“Thanks,” She deadpans.

Emily and Dana trudge their way from the car to the hospital and discard their outerwear in her office. Emily sits at her mother’s desk, homework spread out before her, while Dana logs into her email account and mentally prepares for the day.

“Any requests for dinner tonight?” she asks absentmindedly while scrolling through messages. “I was thinking we could order takeout.”

“Chinese food,” Emily says coldly. “For two.”

Dana looks away from her computer screen and over the rims of her round glasses sternly. “Alright, I don’t want to get into it while I’m at work, but that’s enough. You’ve got to stop sulking about Tom. You hardly even know him, and neither do I, not really. That’s why I’m _dating_ him. To get to know him.” She scans her daughter’s face for any remote sign of understanding. “I’m not _marrying_ him, I’m not _in love_ with him, I’m just dating him. Can you appreciate the difference?”

Emily shrugs, and Dana continues. “This is what single people do. They date other people and try to find out if it’s a good fit. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn’t. I know you think the only perfect men for me were your father or that FBI man you keep talking about, but in reality, nobody is per-” she stops, eyes catching the movement of a tall figure pacing around the hall outside her office. He’s speaking into a cell phone, his mouth drawn into a frown. The man looks as if he’s running on an internal motor, his movements always propelling him in some direction. Dana’s keen eyes are usually used to assess the cause of death on cadavers, but she can tell that he’s attractive. She’s certain she’s never seen this man before, and her curiosity is piqued from a logical and physical standpoint. “Hold that thought,”

The man disappears around a corner, long coat swishing behind him, as Dana sticks her head out of her office doorway. She grabs a random folder off of her desk and tells Emily to stay put before walking after him. Emily, predictably, walks after her.

The hospital hallways are crowded this morning, with people in scrubs and people in suits alike. Dana, one of the latter, tries unsuccessfully to lock her eyes on the man while Emily hands onto her blazer, trailing after her.

“Hey Mom,” she suggests, unperturbed by the crowds and the occasional gory gurneys being wheeled past them. “Maybe we can visit Tom at work sometime and say hi to Mulder, just to see if he’s a good fit. I looked him up, and the FBI website says he’s working on a _special project_...doesn’t say what, though. When I called and asked, they wouldn’t tell me.”

There’s too much happening at once. Dana spins on her heel to stare at Emily in shock and takes her hand. She starts leading her back to the pathology office. The mysterious man disappears down the hall for good.

“ _You called the FBI_?” she asks, voice a little shrill. Emily’s eyes widen at her mother’s tone.

“Just their information line…” she says defensively. “The website said it would be anonymous,”

Scully pulls Emily into her office and closes the door. She sits heavily at the chair behind her desk and pinches the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache start to form. The day just keeps getting better and better.

“That number is for people to call in anonymous tips about crimes,” she says, sighing. “I swear to God, I am going to hide every phone in the apartment,”

“Sorry,” Emily mumbles, sitting down and swinging her feet.

Dana stands and grabs a fresh pair of scrubs out of her bag. “We’ll talk about it more later. I have to do an autopsy. Will you be okay by yourself while I’m gone?” Emily nods. “Okay, I’ll be back soon and we can get lunch.” Dana scrawls the morgue’s number, and after a pause, Tom’s cell phone number on a post-it note. “If there’s an emergency, call the top number first and I’ll pick up.” When she looks up, Emily is already deeply entrenched in a book. Dana sticks the post-it on the desk in front of her and heads to the morgue.

**Bethesda Naval Hospital, January 23rd, 1993, 1:34 PM**

When Mulder was ten years old, he had taken Samantha to a small fair that was being held on the Vineyard. He’d taken her hand like the protective big brother he strived to be and bought her an ice cream. While Samantha had been eager to ride the ferris wheel, Mulder’s eyes were drawn to a game in which a person could offer up a quarter to be placed under one of three opaque cups. The cups were slid around rapidly, the order of them changing faster than the eye could follow. The challenge had been to point out which cup held the quarter. If successful, Mulder would have received his quarter back as well as a stuffed animal for his sister. But he had guessed wrong and had walked away from the game feeling embarrassed.

Today feels a lot like that day on the Vineyard.

Instead of feeling like he’s wasted his allowance, Mulder is chasing evidence all over the hospital. It disappears just as quickly as he can discover it, leaving him empty-handed and frustrated. The only tangible evidence for the x-file he’s pursuing is a patient being heavily guarded under the pretense of national security. Bullshit. This smacks of the same influential nobodies that have been keeping government documents out of Mulder’s hands for months. 

If he smells even the _faintest whiff_ of a cigarette today, he’s going to lose it.

His last stop today is the morgue, with the meager hope that autopsy results from other victims of the unknown cryptid he’s chasing will be helpful.

He trudges in the direction of the morgue when he stops in his tracks at the sound of a child’s bright laugh.

He can’t place it immediately, but Mulder knows that voice.

He walks closer to the source of the sound and finds himself in front of a mostly-closed door. The nameplate next to the door reads _Dana Scully, Head Pathologist._

Although Mulder had known about the nature of Dana Scully’s career for weeks, he had forgotten about Byers’ offhand comment about where she works. Despite the fact that suddenly being one door away from this woman is a complete surprise, Mulder feels guilty, like a stalker. First he sends her a letter, apropos of nothing, and now he is showing up at her place of work.

The worst part is, Mulder _needs_ to talk to Dana Scully. Not for any personal or-god help him- _romantic_ reasons, either. He needs information pertaining to a case, and on a day when doors are slamming in his face repeatedly, she holds the only remaining key.

Mulder stands just outside the door, considering his options. He can smell food from inside Dana’s office, and he hears occasional chewing as well as Emily’s voice excitedly telling her mother about the plot of the book she’s reading. Dana makes surprised and interested noises at all the right moments, piping up to ask the occasional question and stoking Emily’s enthusiasm even more. They laugh together over something- an inside joke- and Mulder finds himself grinning. This is the first time he’s really heard Dana Scully laugh and it’s a beautiful sound.

He wants to knock on the door, to say hello and introduce himself. He even has a good reason, purely business. But Mulder cannot, in good faith, introduce himself as a total stranger to Dana and Emily when he knows them (or at least, he’s acquainted with the idea of them). Plus, what if they had read his letter? What if they think he’s a lunatic who had followed her to work in search of her response?

It occurs to Mulder that he is eavesdropping on a private conversation between a mother and daughter, both of whom have no idea who he is. He gives himself a shake and turns, walking down the hallway and to the parking garage. He’ll call the Lone Gunmen later and ask them to secure a copy of the autopsy report through unofficial channels.

**Alexandria, VA, January 23rd, 1993, 7:30 PM**

Diana is already home when Mulder arrives, stomping snow off his loafers on the welcome mat and shaking slush out of his hair. She sits at the kitchen table, papers spread out in front of her.

“Come here, Fox,” She says by way of greeting. He walks over curiously, sitting down next to her and leaning to give her a quick kiss. 

“What’s all this?”

“Guest lists, catering information, venues…” she trails off and looks up at him. “For the wedding.”

“The wedding?”

“Our wedding, Fox.”

He swallows. “Right,”

Diana goes back to sorting through papers. She speaks to him without looking up. “If you’ll notice, all of this information was compiled by me over the last few weeks” She sighs and continues. “Meanwhile, you have barely even brought up our engagement since we talked to your parents. I can’t help but notice a bit of a discrepancy there, can’t you?”

“It just...it seems a bit early to really settle on the details, doesn’t it?” he asks meekly. He feels guilt erupt in his stomach like an acid burn, concentrated and incapacitating. He squirms in his seat.

Diana shakes her head and sighs again, as if already weary with this conversation. “I just want to make sure that you’re going to go through with this. I don’t want to plan a big expensive wedding just to have you duck out on me at the last second.” She looks at him seriously, expectantly. “You’ve been distant, Fox, and distracted. Sort it out so I know I didn’t make a mistake when I agreed to marry you,” He meets her eyes. It’s clearly a demand, but she tacks on an “Okay?”

Mulder nods and looks down at his lap, feeling both stung and guilty at her words. He knows he needs to get his act together, to stop thinking about some woman he’s never met. There’s a perfectly good person right in front of him who has agreed to marry him despite all of his flaws. He knows how lucky he is, and Diana knows it too. He’d be an idiot to let her get away when she’s probably his best bet at something resembling a happy life.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice shaking. Diana coos in sympathy and moves to sit atop his lap, petting his hair.

“I know you are. And I’m ready to forgive you. Let’s just focus on moving forward, okay?” She kisses the top of his head and then his lips and he clings to her, feeling exposed and raw like a bad sunburn. She whispers soothing words to him to cool the pain.

Mulder tosses and turns that night, the events of the day still tumbling around his head. Diana hadn’t asked him _why_ he’s so hesitant, _why_ he’d blanched at every mention of the wedding recently. That’s probably for the best, because Mulder’s not sure what he would tell her. He doesn’t even know the reason himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! Comments fuel the writing machine that is me...
> 
> find me on tumblr @ midwest-cryptid


	7. Chapter 7

**The Hoover Building, Washington, DC, February 3rd, 1993, 2:45 PM**

Dana fidgets with the visitor badge pinned to her coat as she weaves through the halls of the Hoover Building. She’s too proud to ask for directions to the office of the Violent Crimes Section, but desperation may drive her to do so. The hallways are starting to blend together, and she could swear that she’s passed the same potted plant three times already.

As she’s rounding a corner, a firm hand catches her on the upper arm and two lips meet her temple.

“Hey there,” Tom says, steering her toward a conference room. “I was starting to wonder where you were,”

“Sorry,” Dana mumbles, cheeks flushing at his proximity to her amongst a crowd of strangers. “I got a little turned around,”

Tom shrugs and opens the door to the conference room for her. “It’s no big deal, you’re doing us a massive favor by consulting on this case anyways.” He leads Dana to the far end of the conference room, which has been arranged with several tables at which agents sit and whisper amongst themselves. There’s a projector and a dry-erase board, which Tom stands in front of as he introduces her to the small crowd.

“Thanks for meeting again on such short notice, everyone,” He says loudly, projecting his voice and clapping his hands together once to silence the room. “As the Special Agent in Charge on this case, I felt that this matter should be addressed sooner rather than later. There’s been some new information that’s surfaced thanks to the autopsies of the last three victims. Since my own medical knowledge amounts to how to put a bandaid on-” He laughs, the only one in the room to do so. Dana smiles awkwardly and he continues. “I thought it could be helpful to have the head pathologist at Bethesda explain the results in detail so we’re all on the same page. Dr. Scully, you have the floor,”

Tom steps to the side, allowing Dana to take center stage and begin her overview of the autopsy results. She uses the projector to display pictures she’d taken during the autopsies of the victims and makes a few notes on the dry-erase board. As she’s beginning to describe the probable cause of death of the second victim, her eyes land on a figure in the back corner. He sits at a desk alone, leaning back in his chair and watching her intently.

The man who’s caught her eye is all energy, bouncing his leg, chewing on something that could be gum, and fiddling with a pen. Still, his wide eyes do not wander or stray from her as she speaks and points at figures on the projected slides. In the middle of the phrase _algor mortis_ , the puzzle pieces suddenly slide together in Dana’s brain.

It’s the man that she had clandestinely followed at the hospital.

Dana pauses for only a moment, lips parted in surprise as she takes him in. The man, apparently an FBI agent like Tom, is stunning. He holds tension in his tall frame, but when they make eye contact for a split second, he relaxes, expression open and brown eyes alight with interest. She clears her throat and resumes her presentation, hoping that the brief interruption escaped the notice of everyone else in the room.

\--

Mulder stays at his makeshift desk in the conference room while Dana- _Dr. Scully_ \- is swarmed by individual agents with questions. He’s frozen in his seat, unable to believe the twisted fate that’s deposited them in the same room today. It figures that this should happen just after he’d sworn to let the matter rest. The universe loves to jerk him around.

He stands and mills around the bullpen as Colton takes up most of Dana’s attention. The poor woman. As he’s pouring himself a cup of coffee at the shared sink, he feels a disturbance in the air next to him and sees a streak of orange out of the corner of his eye.

Mulder turns to find himself face-to-face with Wide Awake in Washington in the flesh. She’s looking up at him, face unreadable. He freezes, senses overrun with her. It had been clear during her presentation that she’s beautiful, but up close, Dana Scully is striking. Her blue eyes stand out against the porcelain of her skin and the fire of her hair, drawing his eyes to every part of her. Despite the cool steel of her eyes, there’s a warmth to her, a softness. Mostly, Mulder hadn’t let himself picture her when he heard her voice over the radio; but it’s clear now that her appearance, with all of its eye-catching splendor, matches her personality in ways he could never have anticipated.

Dana looks down at the coffee pot that Mulder is still holding aloft and clears her throat.

“Hello,” She says, lips quirking up into a polite smile.

Mulder reaches out and hands her the coffee pot. Their fingers meet briefly on the handle. “Hello,” He replies, all other words stuck in his throat along with his common sense. Dana reaches across the sink to grab a disposable cup and Mulder nods at her, excusing himself.

He starts to make his way back to the basement, but before the elevator doors close completely, he sees Colton approach Dana from behind and place a hand on her lower back. His blood boils. He thinks of the promise he’d made to himself during Diana’s last intervention and forces himself to look at a catalogue of china patterns when he reaches his office.

\--

**Headquarters of the Lone Gunmen, February 4th, 1993, 8:45 PM**

It’s been a long day. Between wedding planning on his lunch hour and another meeting with the VCS, Mulder is drained of the last dregs of his energy. He slumps against a workbench, nursing his beer through a thick stew of self pity and irritability. The meeting that afternoon had left a bad taste in his mouth, and all the hot air Colton had been putting out during it probably moved the climate change timeline up by five years. It’s hard to miss working in the Violent Crimes Section when Mulder no longer has to deal with eager-to-please yes-men like him, stepping on everyone else to get to the top.

“What’s the matter, Mulder?” Langly’s voice cuts through his misanthropic mental fog and Mulder looks up.

“Nothing, I’m just choking on the good ol’ bureaucratic red tape these days. Such is the life of a government employee,” He neglects to mention his little encounter with Dana Scully, certain that the Lone Gunmen’s resulting excitement would be too infectious for him to ignore. He’s locked the interaction in a filing cabinet somewhere in the back of his mind and thrown away the key.

“Well, this oughta cheer you up,” Langly grins and reaches into the depths of one of the overflowing desk drawers. He pulls out a crinkled envelope. “Your letter got a reply,”

The filing cabinet in the back of his mind falls over, contents spilling out messily.

Mulder’s eyebrows shoot toward the ceiling and he inhales some beer, choking on the hops. “It did?” He snatches the envelope out of Langly’s outstretched hand and inspects it carefully. The address of the Lone Gunmen HQ and the return address (from which he averts his eyes) are written in careful, rounded letters. The stamp in the corner has Snoopy on it. Intrigued, he opens the envelope with shaking hands and unfolds a piece of lined notebook paper.

_Dear Agent Mulder,_

_Thanks for your letter. It was very interesting. You sound neat._

_We are very excited about meeting you in New York on Valentine’s Day. See you soon and catch lots of criminals at the FBI for us._

_Best wishes,_

_Wide Awake in Washington, M.D._

Mulder reads the letter aloud to the three men peering over his shoulder and then reads it to himself again, not quite sure what to make of it. The letter itself is in the same handwriting as the addresses on the envelope, large loopy figures that are spaced slightly too far apart. The _M.D._ following Dana’s pseudonym confuses him. Maybe she’s poking fun at him for mentioning that he’s an FBI agent in his letter? Mulder is torn between the aftershocks of surprise from receiving a reply at all and suspicion at the reply in question.

“What do you make of it, Mulder?” Frohike asks him.

He shrugs. “Either Wide Awake In Washington was sick the day they learned cursive in school, or she’s dictating her letters to her daughter,” He holds the letter up briefly before folding it up and pocketing it with care. “It looks like a child’s handwriting,”

“Well, Dana probably still read your letter, at least. That’s good, right?” Byers asks hopefully.

Mulder sighs. “I don’t know. Part of me wants to just forget about this whole thing. I don’t even know what my goal here is, besides screwing things up between me and Diana even more,”

His companions bristle at the mention of his fiancee, who may as well have been sporting fangs and snakes for hair the last time they saw her. It would be generous to say that Diana dislikes the Lone Gunmen. More accurately, she’s disgusted by their hodgepodge operation and scandalized by the fact that Mulder relies on them for sensitive information and even enjoys their company.

“So you’re just gonna give up?” Langly asks in disbelief. Mulder turns to him.

“What would you suggest, Langly? That I track down this woman who only knows me because I wrote her a letter and ask her out? Break my engagement for a one in five billion chance at something with her?” He runs a hand through his hair frustratedly and rests his face in his palm, elbow leaning on the workbench.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Frohike mutters, “Wow, the Wicked Witch of the West Wing has really been getting on your case about this wedding, huh?”

Mulder doesn’t dignify that question with a response.

\--

**Georgetown, DC, February 5th, 1993, 9:14 PM**

“...alright, so you saw this guy twice?”

“Yes,”

“And all you said to him was _hello_?”

“Yes,”

“Dana, I’m not sure what you want me to say,”

“I just don’t know what to make of it, Missy. I feel like I’m going crazy,”

“Well, then you’re _definitely_ not going to like what I have to say,”

Dana huffs into the phone and swills her wine around in its glass. “Lay it on me,”

“I think it’s fate,” Missy says simply. “I think you feel drawn toward this man because you two are destined to meet each other. Following a complete stranger around is so unlike you, I can’t think of another good reason for it besides some kind of...greater force at work,”

Dana rolls her eyes. “You’re right, Missy,”

“I am?”

“Mhm. I definitely don’t like that theory,”

Missy sighs. “Well, at least you’re getting out there in one way or another. Saying _hello_ to a man is a good start,”

“Well, I am sort of seeing one person,” Dana says slowly. Emily lets out a nearly imperceptible groan from her place on the coach. “I told you about Tom, didn’t I?”

“He’s always talking about his job!” Emily shouts to her aunt from across the room.

“Well, it’s a good thing your mom is a workaholic too, then,” Missy shouts back through the phone, causing Dana to yank the receiver away from her ear at the noise. Missy laughs at Dana’s annoyed huff. Honestly, it sometimes feels like Emily inherited her more annoying traits from her aunt.

“She’ll never be happy with any guy I date unless it’s one specific man who wrote me a letter,” Dana explains to her sister. “Emily’s been obsessed with setting me up with a stranger who heard us on the radio and sent a letter asking to meet us at the top of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day,”

“Like in _An Affair to Remember_?”

“Exactly like that,”

Curious, Emily walks into the kitchen and climbs into her mother’s lap. Dana and Melissa take turns trying to explain the plot of _An Affair to Remember_ to her until all three Scully women are a mess of emotion, laughing and crying. The discussion about the mysterious, dark-haired man is temporarily forgotten, but when Dana lays in bed that night, she is lulled to sleep by thoughts of his voice and the feeling of his hand as he’d handed her the coffee pot.

While Dana drifts off to thoughts of the enigmatic man at the FBI, Emily stares at her ceiling, sleep a far-off impossibility. She ponders the plot of _An Affair to Remember_ and a plan begins to form in her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the feedback on the last chapter! I also appreciate the patience, school and fictober have been taking up my time, and I didn't want to rush a chapter of this fic just to put one out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Georgetown, DC, February 13, 1993, 8:30 PM**

Underwear. Pajamas. Bra. Condoms? Maybe, just in case. Dana’s not the type to assume that her partner will have brought them and it’s better to have them and not need them than the other way around.

Will she need them?

(More importantly, does she _want_ to need them?)

Dana shakes that train of thought from her head as she throws her hodgepodge of necessities into a small duffle bag. Clearing the potentially-necessary-condoms from the bed occurs not a moment too soon because Emily enters the doorway a few seconds later and crosses her arms. She’s been simmering at a low level pout ever since yesterday afternoon when she’d overheard her mother asking the babysitter to stay over on Valentine’s Day so she could go out of town with Tom. 

Emily can pout all she wants. Dana plows ahead with her preparations, unperturbed by the glare she’s receiving.

“I’m leaving after work tomorrow, so Mary will be here when you get home from school,” She says evenly, holding up two dresses and comparing them critically. “I know you’re mad at me, but she has absolutely nothing to do with this so please behave for her, okay?”

Emily doesn’t respond, choosing to stare at a patch of carpet as if it called her a nasty name. Dana sighs and sets both dresses on the bed before walking over to Emily and squatting down to look her in the eye.

“Emily, please be reasonable. I know this is all new and maybe it’s a little scary, but don’t you think I deserve to be happy?” She feels bad playing the guilt card, but it _is_ true. Dana misses Ethan everyday, but she simply cannot remain frozen in her grief forever. ****At some point, she’s got to shed her mourning veil if she ever wants to feel normal again. Growing old and dying alone, while a very real option, doesn’t sound appealing to her.

“I don’t like him.” Emily grouches. Dana stands and paces a lap around the room in frustration.

“I don’t think you’re going to like anyone who isn’t your dad,” She says before going back to the bed and choosing a dress, black and curve-hugging, on a whim. “And I understand that. I know how hard it is to lose a father,” Her voice softens a little. “But that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with Tom.”

That doesn’t mean Tom is necessarily _the one_ , either, but Dana keeps that to herself. Her waning attraction to him in the face of his pompousness isn’t going to win her any arguments.

Emily pulls a piece of paper, well-creased and slightly tattered, from the front pocket of her overalls. “This is the one I like!” She stamps her foot for emphasis.

“Emily, I am not going to have this conversation again.” Dana replies, forcing her voice into something resembling calm. She’s the adult here and she has to act like it, no matter how much she wants to shout back and tell her daughter to leave her alone. Still, irritation bubbles up inside of her, ugly and intense.

“Why can’t we go to New York?” Emily whines. Dana is reminded of how she used to act as a toddler before her afternoon nap. She crosses her arms over her chest.

“How many stranger danger lectures have your father and I given you over the years? You can’t believe everything that strangers tell you, especially a man that invites you somewhere without meeting you first.”

Emily’s cheeks redden as she tries to formulate a response. Unlike her mother, she’s not yet practiced at schooling her anger so the attempt is fruitless. She crumples up the letter and tosses it across the room. “I hate you! And I hate Tom!” She shouts before stomping out of the room and into her bedroom. The door slams behind her.

Dana sits on the edge of her bed and sags like the mattress under her. Frustrated tears well up in her eyes. She sniffs and takes in a shuddering breath. Emily contains a carbon copy of her temper, a rare and well-guarded tendency to transform into a spitfire under the right circumstances. Dana usually feels a burst of pride when she sees parts of herself in her daughter, but the phenomenon is a double-edged sword.

This whole situation is becoming more ridiculous every day. Dana is fighting with Emily as if her relationship with Tom is the hill she’s prepared to die on when she’s not entirely convinced that she likes the man very much in the first place.

_Well_ , she reasons while soaking up her tears with the sleeve of her shirt, _that’s alright_. She’s not exactly looking to tie herself down to anyone permanently at the moment. Maybe she should feel guiltier about it, but part of Dana has viewed Tom as a practice boyfriend throughout the weeks that they’ve been dating. Then again, she gets the feeling that he’s not exactly picturing the two of them sitting on some ambiguous porch 50 years from now, either. Maybe they both just need to get what they want out of this thing they’re doing and call it a day. She’ll put her daughter first every time, and if Emily really doesn’t like Tom, he won’t be in the picture for much longer.

So what exactly _does_ she want from whatever remains of her fling with Tom? Dana considers this as she finishes her packing. The shiny foil of the condoms catches her eye from inside her duffel bag.

Getting laid wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. It’s been quite a while for her. The last time she’d had sex, the primary goal had been creating a sibling for Emily (to no avail) and after that, Ethan had been too unwell for much activity. Dana would be lying if she claimed not to miss that type of intimacy and the reservations she has about Tom are certainly not based on his looks.

As she gets ready for bed, Dana’s thoughts drift back to the man she’d crossed paths with at the Hoover Building earlier this month. Her mind has been doing that a lot lately, mostly against her will. After putting a silent and resolute Emily to bed, Dana lets herself indulge in the thoughts about the mystery man just a little, too tired from the fight earlier to battle her subconscious as well. 

**New York City, February 14th, 1993, 2:14 PM**

The tips of Mulder’s ears tingle with sharp pain as he and Diana cross a crowded street, fighting the February wind. The rows of skyscrapers around them act as a long wind corridor, pushing icy air directly toward them. The chill feels like an insult added to injury since it’s cold enough between him and his fiancee already. He rubs his hands together and exhales some hot air into them before rubbing his ears, scowling.

“I told you to bring a hat, Fox,” Diana mutters to him while pulling her own hat down more securely over her ears. Mulder sighs and shrugs, lacking the energy to argue when he’s focused on conserving heat. His agitation is ameliorated slightly when they enter another department store, warm and flashy on the inside. As they’ve continued their crusade to register for the wedding, the shops have all started to blend together. Mulder is starting to lose his senses of self, time, and space in the dreadful oblivion of china patterns and unnecessary kitchen gadgets.

Mulder and Diana stop for coffee after combing the sixth store that day. As they huddle over a small table in a crowded cafe, an unhappy silence hangs between them. Mulder pouts at his mug, finger circling the edge in irritated little circles. Diana’s cold hand reaches for his and stalls his pattern.

“Fox,” She says softly. He looks up to meet her eyes through a few strands of hair that hang over his forehead. “I can tell that you’ve been distracted for the past few months, and maybe I haven’t been as understanding as I could have been.” A sour look passes over Diana’s face, the same expression she wears whenever she admits fault. Mulder has seen it exactly four times throughout their relationship.

“You’ve been fine,” Mulder reassures her. “It’s true, I have been distracted, but-”

“I just want to say,” Diana interrupts him pointedly. “That it seems like you’re finally returning to me from wherever you’ve been and that I’m happy to see you again.”

He blinks a few times, caught off-guard by her sudden change in attitude. This Diana is a far cry from the one who had snapped at him all morning. 

He would have recognized this dangerous pattern earlier if not for the fact that he’s been trapped inside of the ebb and flow of her temper. Despite his newfound commitment to making their impending wedding happen, the tiny (and shrinking) part of his mind that is still dedicated to self-preservation is starting to become wise to her tactics. Mulder shrugs and gives her an empty smile, wondering if he’d wasted valuable time coming out to New York at all. Diana, satisfied, kisses him soundly and stands.

Their trek through every kitchenware shop in the city continues.

**Bethesda Naval Hospital, February 14th, 1993, 2:48 PM**

Dana returns to her office, smelling of the morgue and sporting bright red goggle indentations on her cheeks and forehead. Damn. She thought she’d be able to change and go straight to dinner with Tom, but now she’s considering stopping at home for a shower first. She sits down heavily at her desk and the blinking light of the answering machine catches her eye. Mary’s panicked voice fills the office.

_Dana, I know you said to only call you for emergencies today, but I’ve been waiting for Emily to get home from school for forty-five minutes and she’s still not here. The bus stopped outside the building but she didn’t get off it. I called the school and they said she left but I don’t know if that means that she got on a bus or not, oh my god Dana I am so sorry-_

Icy dendrites of horror wedge themselves between Dana’s ribs as her heart stutters and then works double-time. She doesn’t even catch the rest of the message before she grabs her bags and runs to her car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Thank you all for supporting this fic and for your patience in re: updates. This is a slightly shorter chapter, but I wanted to put it out there nonetheless. I'm finishing up school in the next few weeks and I have some additions to this au planned for when I have more time ;) (would anyone be interested in reading some ficlets based on this au? Let me know)
> 
> As always, comments make my day!


	9. Chapter 9

**Pennsylvania Station, New York City, February 14th, 1993, 3:15 PM**

Emily sips at the dregs of her chocolate milk that she’d purchased on the train before tossing the empty carton into a nearby trash can. She looks around, taking in the tumultuous crowds and seemingly atmospheric ceilings of Penn Station. The vast size of this building, let alone the rest of the city, tightens her throat. Emily forces back the prickling of tears in the corners of her eyes and marches forward, focusing on the task at hand. She’s made it this far already, and her mission will have been for nothing if she doesn’t find Mulder.

Emily stands on her tiptoes to read the signs that point to the exit of the building. When she makes it out onto the sidewalk, she is nearly knocked down by the crowd and the wind alike. Still, she manages to keep her wits about her and joins the line of other travelers waiting for a taxi.

\--

On another grimy sidewalk, Emily takes a step back and cranes her neck to stare up the side of the Empire State Building. It looms over the city, larger than anything she’s seen in her life. It’s much larger than the square houses on the naval base back in San Diego and the neoclassical buildings in DC by a long shot. Emily grins to herself, picturing a long awaited meeting with Mulder at the top. Her mother won’t be much longer if she's as predictable as she seems. Soon, very soon, Emily will be able to connect the two adults and make everything right with the world. Tom will be a forgotten mistake and her mother will thank her. Without another moment of hesitation, Emily skips into the building and boards the elevator.

**A train headed north, February 14th, 1993, 5:00 PM**

Unsurprisingly, Dana spends most of the train ride to New York City thinking of the last time she’d been forced to sit and wait while her daughter’s wellbeing was decided by forces outside of her control. It had been three years ago, during the last significant flare up of Emily’s anemia. There’s not much of a difference between a hospital room and a train, really. The seats are uncomfortable, the air is never the right temperature, there’s a constant soundtrack of ambient noise to keep one company. At least Ethan had been with her last time, even if he’d been equally powerless. There had been a quiet solidarity in their desperation as they’d sat at their daughter’s bedside, hands clasped and watching as she’d faded into a wisp and fought a fever day in and day out.

For a fleeting moment, Dana morbidly reminisces on that week from hell. Emily had been walking the tightrope above death, but she’d been _there_. Dana suppresses nausea as she pictures her small daughter weaving through crowded city streets, too trusting and open for her own good.

She forces herself into a calmer state, resting her hands on the tray in front of her and taking a few deep breaths through her nose. According to the schedule she’s hastily grabbed at the station, the train will arrive in New York City in two hours and she’ll need a plan upon arrival.

**The Plaza Hotel, February 14th, 1993, 7:30 PM**

Mulder sips his champagne and hazards a glance at Diana over the rim of his glass. She is still perusing the menu, although there is no way she could possibly be taking so long to decide between the three overpriced entrees that this restaurant has deigned to offer this evening. He can almost feel the tension radiating off of her in waves, although that could also be his own nerves.

They’ve been forcing affection ever since their conversation earlier that day. The nonstop wedding planning and the onslaught of hearts and sappy love songs in shops and restaurants across the city had forced them closer out of a sense of obligation. As far as Mulder is concerned, the holiday is the only reason why he’d agreed to a quickie in their ridiculously expensive hotel room before this equally-expensive meal. The sex had felt like it was an intended reward for his acquiescence at the coffee shop, but Diana had clearly gotten more out of it than him. Mulder grimaces as he tastes a hint of her lipstick still stuck to the corner of his mouth.

“Jesus, Fox, if you keep scowling, your face will stick that way,” Diana says from behind her menu. “What’s the matter with you tonight?” Her tone is clipped, annoyed.

Mulder moves to take another sip of his champagne before setting the glass back down. It connects with the table more loudly than intended and Diana looks up at him, raising an impatient eyebrow.

He takes a few steady breaths, existing inside this critical moment and teetering on the knife’s edge of a decision.

“Diana,” Mulder begins slowly. “I have to tell you something.”

\--

Diana takes a concerningly short amount of time to digest what he’s just told her. Mulder isn’t sure he’d be so collected if their positions were reversed, if Diana suddenly told him that she’s decided to break off their engagement due in no small part to a man she’s never formally met. Still, he supposes that he should be relieved at the clean break. It is clean indeed, like a bone snapping neatly in half. There’s less blood this way, only a painful bruise that will ache when pressed for weeks to come.

“Well, Fox,” Diana says slowly, dragging out her reply even longer by taking a long drink of champagne. “It’s clear that this is what you want, and I certainly don’t want to be someone that you settle for.” She smiles sardonically. “This is cheaper than a divorce, at least.” Diana’s eyes narrow and Mulder swallows nervously. “I think I can do better than you, anyways.” Her voice is acidic punctuated with a short laugh, but there’s a tremble of anger and hurt behind it.

Mulder responds with a tight, polite nod. It’s more than she deserves, but he’d rather end this relationship on an relatively amicable note than sink to the petty theatrics that they are both capable of when pushed in the wrong direction. She hands his ring to him and he pockets it before standing and walking out of the restaurant.

Anxiety drains from Mulder’s muscles like a wave crashing onto a beach. His jaw unclenches and he feels a rush of residual adrenaline from his conversation with Diana as he steps out onto the pavement and hails a taxi. This moment feels important, no doubt about that, but it holds only a fraction of the earth-moving power that he had given it in his imagination. Deep down, Mulder knows that his decision had been made last Christmas Eve the moment he’d heard Dana Scully’s voice on the radio. Everything since then, his hesitation toward getting married and his deliberation over whether to reach out to her had just been a way of holding off the inevitable. 

“Empire State Building, please,” He tells the driver when he ducks into the taxi. “As fast as you can.”

**The Empire State Building, February 14th, 1993, 7:46 PM**

Tonight, Emily is learning a lesson that is crucial for every aspiring matchmaker and general schemer, which is that plans must include a margin of error. There is simply no way to perfectly predict how even the most ingenious plans will play out in real life, thus necessitating patience, creativity, and the ability to push down panic when all appears grim.

She is struggling with the last item on that list as she roams the observation deck of the Empire State Building. It’s been several hours since she’s arrived and the sun is no longer providing a comforting light by which she can search for Mulder. Now she is frustrated, hungry, cold, and increasingly scared. 

There’s a payphone near the doors to the elevator that hasn’t been used all evening. She considers using it to call her mother, but then remembers that she’d used the last of her allowance money on the cab ride across town. Where is her mom? She should be here by now, shouldn’t she? And more importantly, where is Mulder? He said he’d be here. Emily thought she could trust him.

Emily asks a kind-looking woman for the time and then plants herself against the wall, hugging her backpack to her chest. She can wait, and she has nowhere else to go.

_Hurry, Mulder_ , she whispers to nobody in particular.

**8:06 PM**

Although comfort isn’t particularly high on her list of priorities right now, Dana is starting to wish that she had changed from heels to flats before rushing to the train station back home. She runs through the lobby of the Empire State Building and huffs in frustration as the elevator doors close just moments before she can squeeze through them.

If Emily isn’t on the observation deck, Dana doesn’t know what she’ll do. She’d gone over the various scenarios in her head on the train ride from DC and the achingly long taxi ride to the Empire State Building, but has yet to come up with a real answer other than the desperate hope that her daughter will be where her note said she’d be and the fervent, almost feral, dedication a mother has to ensuring the safety of her child. She’ll tear apart this city and the entire world, starting with Agent Fox Mulder, if Emily has been harmed in any way.

Dana can feel her pulse thrumming through her veins as she boards an elevator and feels it climb toward the sky. Her palms sweat and she wipes them on her coat, urging the elevator to speed up.

As soon as the doors open, Dana rushes out onto the observation deck, shouting Emily’s name desperately. Though she feels a twinge of panic when she doesn’t immediately see her daughter, soon Emily is tossing her backpack aside and running over.

“Mom!” Emily cries, launching herself into Dana’s arms. She picks the girl up and chokes out a relieved sob while planting kisses in her hair.

“Baby, I was so worried about you,” Dana whispers, voice shaking. “What if something had happened?”

“I’m sorry,” Emily mutters tearfully, hanging onto her mother and sniffling. “I thought he’d be here, Mom, I really did.” She sounds remorseful and Dana’s heart breaks for her. She sets Emily down and kneels down to her level, still holding onto her tightly as if to remind herself that she really is safe. She looks into Emily’s wide eyes and runs a few fingers through her wind-mussed hair.

“We’re alright, aren’t we? The two of us? We’ve been figuring everything out pretty well since your father passed, haven’t we?” Dana asks desperately. Emily’s bottom lip wobbles at her words and she nods. “Jesus, Emily, I just want you to be happy, I didn’t think you were so upset with me that you’d actually come to New York.” Dana’s sob turns into a laugh at the absurdity of it all before she hugs Emily close. “I love you so much, baby, I’m so glad that you’re okay.”

“I love you too, Mom.” Emily replies, small hands clutching at the back of her mother’s coat.

“We’re going to be alright.” Dana promises, though she’s not sure which one of them needs to hear it more.

**8:12 PM**

The honking of various car horns serenades Mulder with a symphony of annoyance as he bounces his knee in the back of the taxi. The wait is maddening. He can _see_ the Empire State Building from here, and yet it feels so far away. With every passing moment, the likelihood of Dana being there becomes slimmer.

“Damn it,” He mutters before taking a handful of cash out of his wallet and handing it to the driver. “Here, happy Valentine’s Day.” Mulder jumps out of the taxi and slams the door behind him before sprinting toward the Empire State Building, suddenly thankful for a job that keeps him in a condition to run at a moment’s notice.

After flashing his badge at the security guard, Mulder is traveling upward, pacing the confines of the elevator. He prepares himself for the overwhelming odds that Dana Scully will _not_ be on the other side of the doors, but his mounting nerves betray his underlying optimism.

However, when he does finally step out onto the observation deck, Mulder realizes that he is completely alone save for a lingering guard and a discarded yellow backpack in the corner. He takes a shuddering breath, the realization that his panic and rush had been for naught not quite sinking in yet. He wanders in slow circles for a minute and looks out over the city.

He’d been foolish at every step of the way. The voice of Dana Scully had put him under some kind of trance and had made him forget that at the end of the day, these sort of wonderful things just don’t happen to him. Fox Mulder is built for tragedy and solitude and work, which has suited him fairly well over his thirty-some years. The only good thing to come out of this experience will have been breaking it off with Diana, which is just fine with him. The Gunmen will be pleased, at least.

At a loss for something to do with his momentum, he walks across the deck and picks up the backpack, which has the words _San Diego Zoo_ and a colorful lion embroidered onto the front pocket. This will need to get turned in to the desk downstairs.

As he turns to leave, Mulder hears the elevator ding.

\--

**8:18 PM**

“First you travel all the way to New York on your own, now you forget your backpack. I just don’t know what I’m going to do with you.” Dana teases as she and Emily ride the elevator back up to the top floor of the building.

“Sorry.” Emily mumbles, playing with the fraying cuff of her coat sleeve. Dana sets a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, I’m kidding. I’m really just glad that you’re alright.”

Emily smiles a little as the doors open. They both walk back out onto the deck. “I think I left it over by the binoculars.” She says, tugging her mother by the hand. They both stop as they notice someone step into the light, holding her backpack loosely by his side.

Suddenly, Dana is frozen in place, mouth hanging open in surprise as she takes in the man standing before her. It takes only a moment for her to recognize him as the man she’d seen twice in DC. His lanky figure and bright, emotional eyes stand out amongst the many people she’s seen since that day in the bullpen when they’d inadvertently shared a pot of coffee.

Emily is stunned, looking between the two adults with wide eyes. For once, she’s completely at a loss for words, having already lost all of her hope for a happy ending to this story. She hangs onto her mother’s hand as they both approach the man. He takes a few steps toward them in return.

Dana can’t bring herself to look away from the man’s face. He blinks at her in similar surprise, clearly recognizing her too, but neither of them speak for a long moment. Emily gives her mother’s hand a supportive squeeze.

“It’s you,” She states plainly. “I saw you at the Hoover Building- the coffee pot-”

The man smiles faintly and nods in agreement. “It’s me.” He looks down toward Emily and holds her backpack out. “Is this yours?”

Emily nods and takes it, gaze locked onto the man like a child meeting Santa for the first time. “You’re Mulder, aren’t you?”

The man laughs and nods. “Guilty as charged.” He has kind eyes when he smiles, Dana notes, urgency and fondness flooding her senses.

“I’m Emily, and this is my mom, Dana.” Emily says pointedly, using her free hand to push Dana closer to the man- Mulder. Dana lets herself be pushed until she is a mere foot away from Mulder, close enough to see the mole on his cheek and smell his cologne.

“Hello, Dana.” Mulder says quietly, his eyes once again connecting with hers. She feels seen in a way she hasn’t in a long time, feels a connection with this man who is still a stranger by most conventional definitions.

“Hi, Mulder.” She replies softly. The wind whips around them, tickling Dana’s cheeks with the tips of her own hair. However, in Mulder’s orbit, she is warm.

The remaining security guard makes a show of checking his watch and clearing his throat loudly before looking toward the elevators. Dana and Mulder are broken out of the spell but make no effort to step away from one another.

“It looks like it’s time to go,” Dana says, looking down toward Emily. She can see the stirrings of a pout begin to show on her daughter's lips and feels the same way. When she looks up at Mulder, Dana can read a flurry of apprehension, uncertainty, and hope flicker across his face. “Shall we?”

Mulder’s face breaks into a grin and finds her hand with his. On Dana’s other side, Emily takes her free hand. The young girl smiles, beyond pleased with herself, as the trio walks toward the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is! The final chapter.
> 
> I would like to thank everyone who supported this fic through kudos, comments, tumblr asks/tags, etc. I'm not sure I would have continued to write this story if not for the kind words of the people who have enjoyed it. If you've ever commented on my writing, please know that it has made my day and that I would high five you if I could.
> 
> In that same vein, please let me know what you thought of this chapter and what you would like to see from this series in the future! I have a few ideas for ficlets planned, so look out for those soon, but I am always open to prompts. The easiest way to send them to me is through comments on here or through my tumblr inbox (midwest-cryptid).
> 
> Once again, thank you so much for reading <3 and thanks to Nora Ephron as well

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think!
> 
> Feel free to message me on tumblr @ midwest-cryptid


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